Then James Wray looked eagerly at May, whose face grew very pale.
“I fear there has been an accident,” she faltered.
“Not to Elsie? Not to my girl!” cried James Wray.
“I—saw someone lying in Fern Dene—as if she had fallen,” said May in a trembling voice; “I am not sure—who it was—not sure it was Miss Wray—I ran to tell father—”
“Fallen!” repeated Wray, aghast. “Where could she have fallen from? How could my girl be in Fern Dene?”
“Suppose I send one of the men to bring Doctor Graham, he’s the nearest,” suggested Mr. Churchill. “I will go with you to Fern Dene if you like, Mr. Wray.”
“It can’t be my girl there!” said Wray, in violent excitement. “She went out about half-past eight o’clock, the barmaid says—how could she be there?”
“It’s better to ascertain at any rate, and I’ll send for Doctor Graham at once. This poor young woman in Fern Dene, whoever it be, may require some assistance,” answered Mr. Churchill, quietly.
He therefore at once dispatched one of the farm servants for the doctor, who only lived a quarter of a mile distant, and he whispered a word in May’s ear.